


first born sons

by jay (tofupofu)



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Child Abuse, F/M, Fluff, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, M/M, Misgendering, Multi, PLC Fic Exchange Vol.2, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Skinny Dipping, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Trans Male Character, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, good aunt bev's aunt i gave her a name in the fic but she doesn't canonically have one, patrick hockstetter is fucked up cw, rape and underage are implied but it's dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24211678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofupofu/pseuds/jay
Summary: "The sun bloomed over Derry just the same as it did for the last couple million years. The difference, though, was the pounding of someone’s heart, the wide eyes that stared back at Eddie Kaspbrak from the mirror."Eddie wants to know what it feels like to be unafraid. But with his troubled coming out and Patrick Hockstetter's imminent release, will he be able to confront his fears? Does he even know what his fears are?
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Comments: 10
Kudos: 14
Collections: Poly Losers Club Fic Exchange Vol.2





	first born sons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterfirehair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfirehair/gifts).



> this is a fic for the PLC fic exchange! it didn't start out that way, but it sure ended up there. this is a day late, and for that i apologize, but. you know. things have been. you know. this is a gift for winterfirehair, whom i did promise i would write a fic that included all of his prompts, which i did not do. i will do that. probably. eventually. anyway this is a 15k word monstrosity that is VERY dark and contains intense themes. please read the warnings and be careful when you read the fic.
> 
> prompt: "Skinny Dipping at the Quarry. can be fluffy or smutty, author decides." (it takes a while but i promise i do get there eventually)

_check the cupboard for your daddy’s gun_

_(red sun rises like an early warning)_

_the lord’s gonna come for your first born son_

_(his hair’s on fire and his heart is burning)_

__

The sun bloomed over Derry just the same as it did for the last couple million years. The difference, though, was the pounding of someone’s heart, the wide eyes that stared back at Eddie Kaspbrak from the mirror.

“Vivian!” Eddie’s mom called. The name sent a thrum of _something_ through his chest. He couldn’t tell what it was, somewhere between anxiety and anger, but it wasn’t a great feeling. He knew exactly what he wanted to be called, he’d known since he was thirteen. His friends knew, a handful of his favorite teachers knew, his mother knew. She knew, and she’d always known, even when he was five and toddled into his late father’s arms. What she didn’t know was that Eddie knew, she didn’t know that he’d spent nights agonizing over whether or not to tell her, only to hear her confess it to her friend on the phone in the kitchen, wine-drunk and dizzy.

_“Oh, Dotty, I’m so ashamed. Where did I go wrong? She’s a--a--I can’t say it. Yes, a queer.”_

Stan’s mom beat herself up for not knowing, but Sonia always had and she tried to beat it out of _Eddie_. Maybe not physically, never like Bev’s dad, never that, but she gave him the medicines and kept him away from people she didn’t like and every time he went over to Richie’s house, with his bisexual mother and father, the only _out_ adults in Derry, she’d scrub his skin red raw in the bathtub with a burning hot washcloth like he might catch something. She did it for his protection, and it hadn’t worked. He’d still ended up… like _this_.

She still didn’t know that Eddie knew. That was the one last gap he’d have to close before he could be happy, he told himself. It was always _one more thing_. He’d keep it to himself, accept himself, and then he’d be happy. He’d tell Bill, and then he’d be happy. He’d tell his friends, start dressing more masculine, beg for cash for a binder at Christmas. _Then_ he’d be happy. He’d cut off his hair and tell his mom. Then he’d be happy.

Well, maybe he could knock two off in one swing. He looked at himself in the mirror, looked down at his long, wavy hair that reached his shoulder blades, and took a pair of kitchen scissors to it. He remembered the way Bev had said she’d done it, four years ago, taped a handheld mirror up to the wall behind her so she could see in the back. Eddie supposed maybe, if he shocked his mother’s system, she’d accept him. Maybe it would be different when she heard the words come out of his mouth. Maybe she wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes and say to him what she’d said on the phone.

Eddie let out a shaky breath, took a towel to run under the cold sink water. He dabbed at his eyes until the splotchy red patches went away, and he marched down the stairs for breakfast.

Halfway down, he realized he probably shouldn’t make decisions at six thirty in the morning.

“Good morning, Mama,” Eddie said in his sweetest voice. She was bent over the sink, washing her hands obsessively. She did so with a vigor matched only by the exuberance she put on hand lotion with.

“Anna-bear, you almost had me worried!” She crowed, “You were a few minutes late, I was starting to wonder if maybe you were ill, sweet--” She trailed off as she turned around, hands still dripping wet.

“I’ve been thinking,” Eddie said, voice picking up speed, “That I would go by a different name and pronouns? It’s called being transgender, Mama, I’m still your child, I’m still yours. I’m just Eddie now, and I’m a boy, and I really really love you and this was really hard for me and--”

“You don’t mean that, Vivian,” Sonia said, voice low, “You’re confused. I knew it was because you were hanging out with that Tozier boy, that--”

“Mom!” Eddie snapped, “I’m trans! It has nothing to do with Richie, or Bill, or--or the Urises, or Bev, or anyone else! It’s all me! I’m the dirty, sinful boy you always feared I was! And it’s not the end of the _fucking_ world, mom! So just give me some basic human respect!”

Sonia’s face darkened, and she dried off her hands with a paper towel. “You’re sick, honey. You’re just sick, that’s all this is--”

“No, mom! It’s an--it’s a part of me! It’s always been a fucking part of me,” Eddie begged, “Please, you have to see--”

His mom’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “You need to clean that profanity out of your mouth.”

Eddie knew what was coming. It was his mom’s favorite punishment--probably because of her preoccupation with cleanliness--his mouth opened without his permission, and he let his mom push the pump down once, twice, three times. But then, she did something she’d never done before. She positioned herself behind him, kept his head tucked under her arm, hand clamped over his mouth. He couldn’t breathe, the soap stung his mouth and made him gag but he was stuck there until his mom saw fit to let him go. He vomited into the sink, but there wasn’t anything besides the soap and bile left. It left a rancid taste in his mouth, and whatever he imagined _cleanliness_ to be, this wasn’t it.

It was the worst thing he’d ever tasted, and then. And then.

His mother pulled at his t-shirt, lifted it over his head.

“What are you--”

“Getting you out of this _disgusting_ outfit, darling girl,” Sonia said, falsely sweet. Eddie, tired of fighting, let his mother lift the shirt up, over his head. She pulled off his binder, his cargo shorts, his boxer-briefs. He was standing naked in his own kitchen. It felt like there were a million eyes on him.

“Why don’t you go put on that lovely sundress I got you for Easter this year? I’ll let you wear it early,” She simpered. It wasn’t a suggestion. Eddie had to walk through the living room, past the big, open bay windows and up to his room again. His mother followed. He pulled on a pair of panties, an ill-fitting bra, and the sundress. It was uncomfortable, starched and unwashed, and it didn’t have any pockets.

“I can’t believe you would do that to your beautiful hair,” Sonia wept, “It’ll take so _long_ to grow back, Anna-bear, why would you do this to yourself?”

Eddie wanted to say something vicious. He wanted to say _you’ve failed as a mother_. _You’re the reason I’m like this_. _I’m diseased because of you_. Regardless of how true it was, he wanted something to dig into her skin and leave her wailing. He wanted to scream, claw the dress to shreds. He wanted to do anything but put on his sandals and walk out the front door.

Bev honked her car horn. Eddie sighed and walked down the stairs, tugged on a pair of lovely, strappy sandals, and walked out the front door. At least he waited until he’d closed the passenger side door before he started to wail like a newborn infant.

“Woah, Eddie,” Bev soothed, reaching out to him, “What’d she do this time?”

Eddie tried to say it, he really did, but something about _my mom made me throw up and undress in front of her_ sounded so mortifying it was like it was trapped in his chest. He didn’t even want to think the words. When Bev’s hands touched his arm, they burned there, two handprints on already peeling skin. He jerked back, against the metal of the car door, and Bev looked at him like she was the deer in headlights. He tried to catch his breath, but it took him a while. Bev didn’t move, didn’t put the car in drive, didn’t peel out like she normally did.

“We’re going to be late,” Eddie said, still gasping for breath a little, “Bev.”

“Honey,” Bev said, a little choked up, a little hesitant, “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

Eddie didn’t say anything, just clenched his jaw and stared out the front window.

“I just--” Bev sighed, “Whatever your mom did to you was horrible. Maybe it would be best for you to take the day off--”

“And what happens when they call her, huh?” Eddie pressed his knuckles to his lip, biting down on them, trying to force the words out, “What happens when she freaks out and thinks I’m sick? She already thinks I’m sick, Bev. She said this was a sickness. She’s--oh _God_ what if she sends me somewhere, Bev, Bev I can’t survive those places I wouldn’t survive I can’t--”

“Eddie!” Bev cried, tears starting to stream down her face, “You know I would do anything for you. Stan would too.”

“My whole life is falling apart,” Eddie muttered, slumping down in his seat.

“Let’s… let’s go to my Aunt’s place,” Bev suggested, so gently it hurt right in Eddie’s chest, “She’ll understand. She might know someone who can help you.”

Eddie nodded. He bit back the _I don’t need help_. _I don’t need any more medicine_. He wondered what they’d do to him. Maybe he’d get sent to a camp even if his mommy didn’t do it, maybe they’d send him away, away from Bev and Stan. They’d been his only friends ever since seventh grade. 

He used to have others, but they were boys, and his mother never let him hang out with them because he was _too old_ to hang out with boys, especially _those_ boys, that dirty Denbrough boy, that filthy Tozier boy. And with no cell phone to speak of, no Instagram, no Twitter, no phone number, Eddie had no way of contacting them outside of class. His mom never let him do extracurriculars, and he was so behind because of all the time he’d missed being sick, so his only friends were Bev and Stan.

“Do you have water?” Eddie asked, because he could still taste it on the back of his tongue. Bev cast him a worried glance.

“Yeah,” She reached into the backseat for her bag, pulling out a reusable water bottle. Eddie rolled down her window, gargled, and spat, and Bev raised an eyebrow to him.

“I don’t…” Eddie sighed, “I just--can we go? I don’t care. I don’t care where.”

Bev nodded, put her car in drive, and peeled away from the curb. Bev’s driving was a little scary at the best of times, but she and Eddie were both constantly overflowing with road rage, so Stan had repeatedly kicked them out of his car. Now he might even call himself grateful for it. He didn't want Stan to worry.

Eddie sighed, taking another drink from Bev’s water bottle. He suddenly felt bad for putting his disgusting mouth on Bev’s bottle, he’d have to wash it out when they got to Bev’s Aunt’s.

Bev’s dad had been carted off to prison for a few different crimes at the start of her first semester in Derry. Her Aunt Sam had moved up, not wanting Bev to switch schools again. Her Aunt didn’t make a great living, but it was enough for a modest little two-bedroom. It didn’t have a basement, and it only had one bathroom, but it was better than the apartment Bev’s dad had tried to live out of.

“Sweetie, why are you home?” Sam asked, glancing over at Eddie. Her face fell. “Eddie, dear, what’s wrong?”

Eddie let out a choked sob, and Sam opened her arms to him. She was in her work uniform, and _God_ Eddie was probably getting it all dirty--

“We can stay home today,” Sam assured Bev, “We’ll all of us have some popcorn and watch some movies and, Eddie dear, why don’t I call Don and have him bring over some of Stan’s clothes--”

Eddie nodded pitifully, feeling like a small child again. Sam called in to work, and Eddie washed out Bev’s water bottle furiously, scrubbing with a sponge until his fingers were wrinkled.

Bev’s hands came to rest on Eddie’s shoulders, hesitantly, a little too light, “It’s okay, Eddie. We have a dishwasher. I can get a cup of water now that I’m home, I--”

“You don’t understand,” Eddie sniffed, wiping his eyes with the dry part of his arm, “My mom, she--she made me eat soap. Which, like, that’s usually how she reacts to things so it was fine and I was fine with it but then she--she--” Eddie shuddered, and Bev opened her mouth to speak but he _had_ to get it out, “She held my mouth shut. I couldn’t breathe, Bev. I couldn’t--I threw up in the sink when she let me go. She made me go change, she--I--I didn’t get to rinse the taste out of my mouth until--”

He trailed off, realizing Sam had come back into the room. There was a fire in her eyes, an _anger_ that chilled Eddie to the bone.

“I’m so sorry,” Eddie said, feeling like he was about to really cry again, “Please, Ms. Marsh, I--”

“Eddie, sweet boy, I’m not mad,” Sam said, kneeling in front of Eddie like he was a _child_ , “It’s not your fault. Come on, let’s get you settled on the couch so I can call Donny.”

Eddie let himself be manhandled onto the couch--although they were really just gently guiding him--and he curled up under one of the thin, ratty old blankets Sam had around the house for them. Bev sat next to him, and Eddie leaned on her, let her stroke his hair. Sam put _Madagascar_ on the TV and kissed Bev on the head before disappearing back into the kitchen. Eddie pretended he couldn’t hear her hushed, angry muttering.

Donald Uris was at the door about five minutes sooner than he should have been with a fresh change of clothes, including a pair of boxers and a binder. He wasn’t one for hugs, not with Stan or any of the rest of them, but he wrapped Eddie up in a tight one. His shoulders were nice and broad, he was warm and solid. Eddie could really see how he wound up the caretaker for a community--good hugs and warm words had to be a prerequisite.

“It’s going to be okay,” He said, stooping down to look Eddie in the eye, “We’re all here for you, Eddie. Okay?”

Eddie nodded, and Don patted him on the shoulder before handing over the clothes and stepping past him to talk to Sam. Eddie walked to the bathroom, changing in front of the dim bathroom lights. He stripped down, looking over his naked body. He tried so hard to like it, Bev had always told him it was better to like what you had than hate yourself for having it, but he just wished things were different. He didn’t look exactly like a cis girl, didn’t look like Bev or Greta or any of the others. His breasts weren’t perky, he was covered in acne from his binder, his thighs and calves were well-worked from track and field. He tried to look at those elements, tried to say _see Ma, I’m a boy_ , but the words fell flat, even in his mind. He felt pathetic.

He didn’t bother with the binder, just pulled on the other clothes. He’d burn that sundress.

He came out to find Bev texting someone on her phone. He sat down and caught Stan’s name on her screen. Eddie groaned and stretched out on Bev’s lap. His head was on her thighs, and he was looking up at her.

“Hey, do you know Bill Denbrough?” Bev asked, and Eddie raised an eyebrow at her.

“Stan says there’s something you should know,” She said, softly, “I’m a little worried. It--he seems really worked up. Said Bill Denbrough and Richie Tozier had something to do with it.”

“We used to hang out,” Eddie shrugged, “I dunno why they’d want anything to do with us now, though. It’s been years.”

Bev’s nails clicked away on her keyboard, and Eddie zoned out. Bev set her phone down and played with Eddie’s hair. At some point, Eddie must have drifted off to sleep, because when he opened his eyes again the sun was setting and the lights had been turned on. Slowly, he realized he was hearing a knock at the door.

Eddie stood up slowly, uncovering himself, and stretched as he walked towards the door. He opened it to see Stan, Bill, and Richie all standing there. Eddie was suddenly _very_ awake.

“What’s wrong?” Bev asked from the couch. She rubbed at her eyes, and her hair was all over the place, but she looked just as eerily alert as Eddie when the boys stepped inside.

Stan smoothed his button-down t-shirt. “It’s just a rumor--”

“It _might_ be just a rumor,” Richie hissed, stepping inside, “Eddie. Do you remember when Patrick and Henry got arrested?”

“After--”

“Yuh-yeah, _after_ ,” Bill interrupted, face pained. Eddie remembered, with a clear certainty, that they were approaching the four-year anniversary of Georgie Denbrough’s kidnapping. Disappearance. Whatever you wanted to call it. They found him a week after _the incident_ , the one Bill doesn’t talk about. He hadn’t been the same since, none of them had been. Eddie remembers, almost distantly, the day he and Bill and Richie and Stan had found Georgie in the old, unsold house at the end of Neibolt street.

“Oh _God_ ,” Eddie choked, “Is--”

Stan nodded, hand working over his chin, “Four years. They gave him four--four years.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Bev asked, joining them by the front door.

“That’s right,” Stan recalled, “You weren’t--you just missed him, Bev. Patrick Hockstetter and Henry Bowers.”

The names sent chills over them, but everyone knew there was only one beyond saving. The one that got off easy, the one that was only taken as an accomplice. They didn’t ever catch the fridge in the junkyard, or the disappearance of dogs and cats around the neighborhood or the assaults or the threats.

Bev looked over them with eyes full of equal parts curiosity and concern.

“When’s he set for release?” Eddie asked, feeling like he was having the worst day that anyone’s had in the history of forever.

“That’s not the rumor,” Stan said, voice a terrified whisper, “The rumor is--he blames us. For getting locked up. Says if it wasn’t for us he woulda--woulda--”

Eddie knew what he was going to say, but Bev doesn’t, so Eddie says it for him. “Bowers woulda been out of his hair. He could’ve… could’ve done whatever he wanted to us.”

Bev’s eyes go wide. “What are you guys talking about?”

Eddie went to sit on the couch, not trusting his legs to keep him upright. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to think about _them_ ever again.

“Ah, middle school,” Richie said, a wonderful break in the tension, “When we were in the seventh grade, freshly thirteen, Bill’s brother--” Richie took one look at Bill’s face and thought twice. Unfortunately, Richie didn’t have anything even closely resembling a filter, “Got kidnapped. By Patrick Hockstetter. He’d been picking off kids for weeks. So anyway, we go to this old fucking house on the corner of Neibolt and South, because people told us not to and Bill’s got some weird little kid ESP or something and--”

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-beep _fucking_ beep, Rich!” Bill exclaimed, hands in fists so tight they were shaking and white. Richie swallowed, eyes flashing, and his mouth snapped shut for approximately three seconds.

“Anyway,” Richie looked back over to Bev, “This guy’s bad news. He only got four years because Henry Bowers, another precious childhood bully, got blamed for everything. The death of his own father, the kidnapping and t--and--and.” He stopped as Stan’s hands reached over to Bill’s arms. Bill shrank away.

Eddie was still trying to process it, staring blankly at Richie’s face. He’d shot up sometime after freshman year, and he was stuck at a terrifying six-foot-four. Next to Bill and Stan, neither of whom grew past five-eight, he looked almost comical. His glasses were still gigantic, wire-rimmed, and gaudy. At least some things never changed.

“So, what’s the bad news?” Eddie asked, finally, cracking a little sideways smile.

Sam stepped out into the room. “What’s going on, Bev?”

“Uh--” Bev looked between her Aunt and the boys, “This is Bill Denbrough and Richie Tozier, they’re friends from school. There’s--uh--something you should know.”

She relayed the story, omitting as many details as she could. Eddie still felt the same cold feeling overtake him. He remembered it with what he could only describe as an unclear clarity. If he pressed himself, and sometimes he did, he could remember ever vivid detail. Sometimes it was accidental. But he remembered every whisper of wind, every little sound in the Neibolt House. Stan rubbed at the scars on the side of his face. 

Bev’s living room morphed into the Neibolt House in the blink of an eye. He remembered every single detail except the fall.

“C’mon!” Bill stage-whispered, leading them into the house. He was bone-thin then, just on the wrong side of gangly and awkward. The floorboards creaked under their feet, but the entryway didn’t hold any answers for them. If anything, it was anticlimactic. Richie was holding a metal baseball bat, Bill had armed himself with a loose fencepost. Stan, ever the pragmatist, had stolen his dad’s iPhone and was taking pictures. Eddie didn’t have anything, but there was no way in Hell he was going to let any of them go in without him. They crept into the house, just as stealthy as thirteen year old boys had any right to be.

Bill’s eyes ticked upwards with Eddie’s when they heard it. A single, simple cry from the room upstairs. Bill sprinted up the stairs with reckless abandon, his steps loud and thundering. With each one, Eddie, Stan, and Richie all flinched. It wasn’t until Bill screamed that Richie and Eddie flew up the stairs, too, leaving Stan in their wake.

The scene was indescribable. Corpses, the corpses of _children_ , in various states of rot, strewn about the room. They were all unclothed. Richie threw up as soon as he processed the contents of the room.

“Guh-guh-guh-guh-- _he’s still breathing_ ,” Bill screamed, tears streaming down his face. There, amongst the bodies, was little George Denbrough, gasping for breath and making grabby hands--sorry, _hand_ \--at Bill. Bill took off his flannel and wrapped it around Georgie’s waist before holding him close and sobbing.

When Eddie saw him there, with scars riddling his body, he understood who did it, and he understood why. Well, maybe _understanding_ was a bit strong, but he knew. He knew, clear as day, that this was Patrick Hockstetter. It was the same way he’d keep things in the fridge in the junkyard. He’d wait for them to starve, or die of exposure, or some other painfully slow way. He’d keep them alive just to watch them struggle. It was like entertainment to him.

Richie threw up again when he realized Georgie was down an arm. Then Stan screamed from downstairs, and they realized that they hadn’t noticed his absence.

Bill was helping Georgie down the stairs, and Richie was taking them ten at a time to help Stan, but Eddie was frozen. His eyes flickered around the room, dread and shock pooling in his stomach.

“Like what you see?” A voice purred from behind him, and Eddie whirled around to see Patrick. At the time, he was fifteen, but to Eddie _fifteen_ sounded like a fully grown adult. Patrick loomed over him. When Eddie didn’t respond, his face slipped back into something that looked blank, or empty, and it terrified Eddie. He stepped back, tripping on a body. Patrick stepped forward, in tandem with him, and then Eddie scrambled back.

“You’d look so pretty in the fridge,” He remembered Patrick saying, “Next to that dog. Oh, I’d make you both wait. Maybe one of you would get hungry enough to eat the other.”

Something gave way, and the next thing he knew was Richie snapping his arm back into place, and then the ambulance and the police and his _mother_. His fucking mother.

“Eddie, dear?” Sam said, from the same crouched position that they always had when they asked about his home life, or his father, or if his mother ever hit him, or if someone had ever touched him, or--

“I can’t,” Eddie shook his head, “I can’t--he’s going to kill me.”

It was the truth. If Patrick ever saw Eddie again, he’d kill him. Sam furrowed her brow before standing up and going back over to her phone. 

Rabbi Uris always had extra blankets ready for them. He’d always had so many more than Stan’s friends had needed. Ben Hanscom and Mike Hanlon were already at Stan’s house.

“Pops doesn’t want me at home, at least for the first week,” Mike said, in lieu of a greeting, “The last time I saw him, he was holding my dog’s body in his hands. Said he’d kept him in the fridge until he’d died. Said he’d like to do the same to me.”

Donald Uris gave curt and swift greetings to every child who walked in his front door, all five of them, and went back to his phone call. “Yes, Mrs. Denbrough, William is right here at the house. I would suggest George come to join him, he might be a little shaken up with the news of--yes, of course, you can stay with them, there’s plenty of room here, Sharon.”

Bill sat on the couch, head in his hands. “Wuh-what are we gonna do?”

Nobody had an answer, so nobody said anything. Eddie sat next to Bill. Soon, they were all arranged on the Uris’s couches, all packed in together, not saying anything until Mrs. Denbrough walked through the door holding a ten year old Georgie. He was shaking.

Sharon set Georgie down in Bill’s lap, and Bill hugged Georgie so tight Eddie could see his knuckles turning white again. Georgie knew, because none of them could ever keep a secret from him.

“When are you coming over to visit again?” Georgie asked Eddie, instead of saying anything else. There, the other shoe. Eddie had been waiting for it since the ninth grade. He couldn’t--it was _Georgie_ \--he couldn’t say _I’m not_.

“I--Georgie,” Eddie took a shaky breath, “My mom doesn’t like it when I come over to your house. She worries about me hanging out with boys.”

“But Billy says you’re a boy!” Georgie protested, twisting around in Bill’s lap, “And anyway, Billy hangs out with Mary Grayson all the time!”

Eddie wondered if Bill had been dating her. That was another spice of life that had been denied to Eddie. He’d never had a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and either one would probably send his mother into a fit. He wasn’t even sure what he liked, or who he wanted.

“I wish I could hang out with Bill,” Eddie admitted, and Bill and Richie’s heads snapped over to him, “And Richie. I miss them so much, Georgie. I miss you too.”

Georgie turned to Eddie and gave him a tight hug. “I miss you too _too_ , Eddie.”

Richie frowned. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“My mom would’ve killed me, you know that,” Eddie said, eyes pleading, “She barely lets me hang out with Bev and Stan, and if she knew Stan was trans she’d never let me come over here again.”

The morning’s events replayed themselves in an instant in Eddie’s mind. It felt like a whole year had passed, and also no time at all. Eddie realized the adults had all left for the kitchen, and he could hear the sounds of small chatter.

Silence fell over the group, somber and small. “Patrick’s gotta be what, twuh-twenty now, right?”

Their heads swiveled over to Bill, who’d drawn his knees up to his chest. “I just--he was sixteen when he was arrested. It’s been four years.”

The thought chilled Eddie to the bone. He thought of Patrick, toughened by juvie. He didn’t quite know what happened to people who went to juvie, just that it was like prison for kids. His mom watched a lot of Law and Order, so he knew what happened in prisons. Twenty was three years away for Eddie, it seemed like such a long time.

Eddie rubbed his eyelids. “So, what are we gonna do about this? We’re not just gonna be sitting ducks, not like last time, right?”

Stan glares at the mention of _sitting ducks_ , fingers tracing his scars. There were three of them, framing his face, made with a dull knife. Eddie never did find out what had happened to Rabbi Uris’s camera.

Sam came into the living room with hot chocolate. “Just the way Bev likes it.”

It wasn’t like the hot cocoa Eddie was used to. His mom always stocked up on Swiss Miss during the winter, and when Eddie wasn’t allowed candy, he’d sneak spoonfuls of hot cocoa powder. It was half-sugar anyway. This was rich, though, it tasted like real chocolate, with cinnamon and some more warm spices that Eddie couldn’t quite place. It was nice, filling his belly with something other than dread. They all seemed to relax, leaning into one another. Georgie was back at Bill’s side, pressed up against him. Bill ran his fingers through Georgie’s hair, smoothing it out and messing it up again.

The atmosphere never quite grew relaxed. It reminded Eddie of a funeral, almost. Eventually, he caved in again, let sleep pull his eyelids shut.

He was running. Something was chasing him, something his brain wouldn’t quite comprehend, but he heard the clatter of its legs on the ground. It clicked rapidly behind him, and as he looked down he saw his stomach getting bigger and bigger. He knew, somehow, that he was pregnant. He wondered when he’d had sex.

“Oh, you’re such a pretty girl,” The _thing_ behind him said, purring just like Patrick Hockstetter’s, “You looked so pretty on my--”

Eddie let out a cry, collapsing onto his knees. Why him? Why couldn’t he just be _normal_ , live in a _normal_ town. When had that wall appeared in front of him? He turned around, pressing up against it, looking back at the _creature_ , which was now running at him on normal legs, which was now his mother sprinting after him with curlers in her hair. She had a knife, it gleamed in the light, she got closer and closer and closer and the point of the blade touched his chest right under his right nipple and he--

And he woke up to a pounding at the door. “Open up, Donald! Open up--I know she’s in there! I know she’s--”

Sam opened the door to Eddie’s mother’s red and screaming face. “It is five in the _morning_ , Sonia. What in the world could possibly be this urgent?”

“I see her!” Sonia said, pointing past Sam, to Eddie’s spot on the couch, “I see her, she’s sleeping with that _disgusting_ Tozier boy isn’t she? I’ll never allow her over here again, how could you _betray_ me like this, Samantha, you know how I feel about--”

“ _Eddie_ ,” Sam hissed, voice low in her throat, “Is perfectly fine. _He_ is staying here until it is safe.”

“She’s safe with me!” Sonia insisted, flipping from furious to put-upon in a second, “I can’t believe you of all people don’t trust the worth of a mother’s protection--”

“Beverly was abused by her father,” Sam reminded her, “I’m her _Aunt_. Her mother died when she was young.”

“Don’t you see? The lack of a motherly influence has made her,” Sonia paused, “ _Like that_.”

“Like _what_ , exactly?” Sam asked, aggravated, “Sonia, you didn’t come here to insult me and beg for me to let you traumatize your own son.”

“I cannot _believe_ you would--” Sonia screamed, jolting the rest of the kids awake, “I’ll be back! With lawyers! With the _police_! I’ll have her sent away, I’ll have them _all_ sent away, and you can’t--you’ll never--”

Eddie stood up, walking over to Sam, his dreams still fresh in his mind, “Ma. I’m staying. If you take me back, I’ll just leave again.”

“You don’t mean that, Anna-bear,” Sonia said, switching again to sad and disbelieving, “You need me. You _need_ me to protect you, to save you, to keep you safe from people like _them_.”

Eddie didn’t quite have an answer to that. Sonia reached forward, arm tight around Eddie’s wrist. Too tight, too familiar, too--

Eddie went with her. Sam watched, but she didn’t try to stop him. Not a word, not another hand on his arm, just sad eyes. She rubbed the pendant that hung down from her necklace. She’d told Eddie what it was--pink quartz. It was pure, it was clear, it was calm. It was Eddie’s antithesis.

He numbly let his mother push him into the backseat of her oldsmobile. The drive was short, but he didn’t answer any of her questions. She seemed happy enough to ramble on about sin and lust and the wonder of womanhood and how Eddie was wasting it.

“I’ve gotten rid of those disgusting outfits,” Sonia said, and that’s what snapped Eddie back into reality.

“ _What_?” He asked, only half-shocked.

Sonia parked the car in the driveway. “Get out, Vivian.”

Eddie stayed put. “What do I have left to wear?”

“I bought you new clothes,” She said, “Go change.”

“No!” Eddie shouted, crossing his arms, staying put right in his spot, “You know what? I’m sick of this.”

“Do not talk to me like that!” Sonia shouted right back, getting out of the car, unbuckling Eddie, and manhandling him into the house, “Now go change, or you won’t be getting dinner!”

Eddie marched upstairs, hands curled into fists. He collapsed onto his bed and screamed into a pillow. Then, he took a full look around his room.

“Ma!” Eddie ran back down the stairs, “Where’s my pictures?”

“You think you’re this… this _thing_ because you miss your father,” Sonia said, “Now, go _change_!”

Eddie looked around the living room. No more pictures of Frank. “Mom!” He hated how his voice sounded, all stopped up and wobbly.

Sonia reached out, gently, and rubbed Eddie’s arm. “It’s okay, sweetheart. He’s gone. You have me, and that’s enough, sweetie, that’s--”

“I can’t _believe_ you!” Eddie wiped furiously at his face, “That was the only thing I had left of him and you just--you _just_ \--you--”

“I didn’t do anything,” Sonia said, “You _made_ me do this, Anna-bear. It’s for your own good.”

Eddie stomped back upstairs, not sparing his mother another look, and he started packing. He didn’t have much--his mother really had gone through his whole room--but when he checked the false bottom of his dresser drawer to find it empty, his heart stopped in his chest.

Eddie turned around to see his mother in the doorway-- _when had she changed the locks?_

He held up the false bottom of the drawer in utter shock. “Ma--”

“I found everything,” Her lip curled just the slightest bit, “The compression shirt. That _horrible..._ phallic--”

“The packer,” Eddie whispered, voice barely audible.

“I found your diary,” She said, “The real one. I knew the one you kept under your pillow was a fake, I _knew_ it, I knew you were keeping secrets from me--”

“When I tell you what’s going on, you never believe me!” Eddie accused, throwing the plank of wood onto the ground.

“Don’t fight me on this, Vivian Lee Kaspbrak!” Sonia yelled, “You’re sick! I’m just trying to protect you!”

“Well, I don’t need it!” Eddie said, moving forward to the door. Sonia shut it, and Eddie heard it lock. He tried the knob, already knowing it wouldn’t budge. She’d never done this before, not once.

“You’ll learn,” She said, voice horribly dangerous. Eddie cried out, banging on the door.

“You can’t do this! You can’t--you can’t keep me in here!” He shouted. She passed a pot through the cat door she’d installed on Eddie’s door. She was _serious_.

“You can use this when you have needs,” She said, in that little, simpering, _pitiful_ way, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, baby.”

Eddie knew it wouldn’t work to try to bust the door open. He needed to get out, he needed to get out _now_. He looked out his window, to the tree. Richie used to climb up it, to his window, right after Eddie had been banned from visiting him and Bill. It had been a while, and Eddie definitely weighed more now than Richie did at fourteen, but maybe he could.

He tried the window, but it was locked. Of course. Then he looked to the pot his mother had passed through the door. It was metal, it was sturdy, it was--

His hands were around it before he could think twice. He held it, brought it up, and swung down. It bounced off harmlessly, only scratching the glass.

Jesus _Christ_ , how did people do this? Eddie was overwhelmed with exhaustion for the third time in two days, all because of a very bad decision and some very bad news. Maybe he _should_ stay in his room. He’d be safe, at least. Safe, and alone, and pissing in a saucepan. Then, he thought of Stan. Stan, who’d been on testosterone for two years, who still couldn’t grow a beard, whose hair was already thinning, who’d worn full suits his whole freshman year after he came out to his parents. Eddie ached, thinking about him exposed to whatever Patrick wanted to do to him. Richie and Bill, too. He hadn’t spoken to them in _years_ and here he was, leaving them in the hands of an evil, unspeakably evil man.

Glue. His window was superglued shut, there had to be a way to undo it, there had to be _some_ way to pick at the glue until it came free.

He tried, but he only succeeded in bending his nail back to a painful degree. His Swiss Army knife was missing. Why’d he have to put all his eggs in the same, false-bottomed basket? He should’ve at least hid the vibrator better. He’d spent a lot of money on that. On top of everything, his bladder was starting to feel pretty full.

Damn Sam’s hot cocoa. Eddie’d had two whole mugs of it, and now that it had his attention again, he felt like his bladder was going to explode.

Fearing the loss of his only throw-able metal, he slammed the pot against the window until his lungs were _burning._ He noticed a little spiderweb of a crack, but it was enough to give him hope. He was closer to freedom. Again and again, he went at the window, until it was covered in little glass webbing. A few more and the glass would splinter, would fall apart. He didn’t even hear his mother’s rapid footsteps up the stairs until she was in his room.

“Vivian!” His mother cried, making him jump, “What are you doing?”

“Leaving!” Eddie said, but his mother had already descended upon him. She tried to pry his hands off the pot, tried to tug it away from him, but he was too determined. Then, she slapped him.

Eddie, in shock, dropped the pot, and his mother left the room triumphant. A few minutes later, a large glass bowl was slid under the door.

“If I don’t see that you’ve changed in the next ten minutes, you’re not getting breakfast, either,” A voice came from the corner of his room, and Eddie looked over to see a baby monitor in the corner. Great.

Eddie took out a skirt, showed it off to the baby monitor, wrapped it around his fist, and then he punched the window.

It hurt like a _bitch_. The window didn’t budge.

Eddie gave in. He laid down in his bed and tried to ignore the feeling in his bladder. It lasted about another twenty minutes before the pressure was unbearable, knocking itself up to legitimate pain. Eddie figured he might as well, and he dropped trou and pissed in a fucking bowl. It stunk to high heaven, but the relief was immediate. Eddie laid down on his bed and tried to ignore the fact that the boxers were still damp.

“You can’t wear those forever!” The monitor chirped happily. Eddie elected to ignore that, too. He tried burying his face in his pillow and screaming again, but even that didn’t get rid of the disgust that trailed up from between his legs and into his chest. 

Sleep didn’t come easy. Eddie took a savage pleasure in listening to his mother’s lectures, but paying much more attention to the ever-growing bug noises outside his window. He’d give them just as much credence as his mother. They came from the same place, after all. They gave _him_ just as much respect. Much more, really. The lightning bugs never told him he was going to Hell if he didn’t change.

Really, it was 2016, he knew he wasn’t going to Hell. He knew that if there was a God, they were kind. He loved to listen to Sam talk about religion for that exact reason. She’d talk, if you let her, and although Eddie’d gone to church every Sunday since he was born, he’d let her. She told him about how the Goddess was everything and everything was her, and how she took care of everybody, how she cared, how bad things happened because she had just as much responsibility to the snakes as she did to the mice. Eddie liked that idea very much, the thought that everything had reason and that reason was kind and cruel at the same time.

His mother gave up at one in the morning. Eddie moved over to his window, sitting on the ground and staring up at the sky past the cracks in his window. The cricket and frog chorus didn’t lull him to sleep, and when he looked up at the moon, he wondered if God or the Goddess or any of it really mattered, when the night sky was so beautiful.

Hangers. He had hangers. He took one off the rack, threw the dress onto his bed, and stuck his hand through the cat door, feeling up the other side. He hadn’t given it much thought, but as he felt up the side of the door, he couldn’t feel any extra locks. She must have just taken it off the hinges and switched it around. He’d never wanted his Swiss Army knife more in his _life_.

His hangers were all plastic, so he searched his whole room for something that could stand in for a screwdriver. Anything to get the cheap locking mechanism of the doorknob to unlock. He didn’t strike gold, and nothing even remotely close. His room had been completely taken apart and put back together, emptied of anything but acceptable clothes by his mother. His desk drawers were empty--his _desk drawers_. An idea struck.

He pulled them free and, without much fanfare at all, slammed one into his window. It caved outwards beautifully, bits of glass sparkling in the moonlight. It was just before sunrise, in the blue hour, where there was still enough light to see in front of his face, and Eddie was alive again. He didn’t have much time at all, and if his mother knew, she could be waiting at the bottom of the tree, and then he’d be stuck again.

The hardest part was maneuvering onto the tree branch. He brushed the glass off of his windowsill with a skirt wrapped around his hand, and he carefully placed his feet and hands where there wasn’t any danger of getting cut. His heart pounded.

He grabbed onto the branch and sat on it, legs dangling over the sides. He was on the second story, so he wasn’t _technically_ that high up, but when he looked down, his heart thudded even louder in his chest, like bird beating against its cage. Slowly, torturously, he inched forward on the branch. He reached the heart of the tree--an oak that was probably three times as old as Eddie, if not more--and he tried to plot his next move down, but he was shaking so hard he could barely see.

He grabbed onto the branches, took a breath, and started to lower himself down. Eventually, he’d have to let go, let himself fall a few feet to the ground, but it was still terrifying. He didn’t know how Richie ever made it up there. His hands grew tired, eventually, and he dropped. The ground met his feet with a jolt, and he remembered very painfully and suddenly that he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

He limped the rest of the way to the Toziers’, because their house was the closest. It was nearly four in the morning when he knocked on the front door. Nobody answered, but he knew his mother would be out and looking for him, so he knocked again. Louder, louder, louder, he pounded on the door, tears streaming down his face, desperation growing in his chest. Eventually, Wentworth Tozier opened the door, hair an unruly black mass above his head.

He looked down at Eddie, and Eddie looked up at him.

“Vivian?” He asked, scratching at his face. Eddie broke down, sobbing at his deadname. Wentworth brought him in for a hug, but Eddie recoiled, even though Went was warm and kind and always smelled clean.

“Went?” Margaret Tozier asked, standing behind them. “What’s the matter?”

“Sonia’s kid’s here, crying her damn eyes out, I don’t know what to do, Mags,” Went said, eyes pleading, “Come inside, kiddo, you smell like shit.”

“Thanks,” Eddie sniffed, wiping at his face, “And it’s--I--I’m trans. It’s Eddie now, I’m a boy, and all that.”

Eddie didn’t realize the words were supposed to mean anything to him until they were already out of his mouth, and then he remembered his mother’s reaction, and when Maggie went to touch his shoulder, he flinched. He could still taste the soap in his mouth.

“Sweetie,” Maggie said, crouching down in front of Eddie. In his mind, her mouth formed the words, but his mother’s voice came out.

“Don’t send me back,” Eddie pleaded, still sobbing, “Please, please, I can be--I can--”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Maggie reached out again, attempting to take Eddie’s hands in hers. Eddie flinched back again.

“I’m disgusting,” He said, unable to say _why_.

“Here, take a shower, I’ll have Richie bring you some of his clothes,” Maggie said, all ready to yell down to Richie in the basement.

Eddie swallowed what was left of his pride, because being this filthy was worse than telling Richie what had happened, but he still wasn’t quite ready to see Richie, sleepy, at the top of the stairs, holding a fresh change of clothes.

“What happened, Eh--uh,” Richie glanced back and forth between his parents and Eddie. Eddie nodded, and Richie continued, “Eddie. What’s wrong?”

“She--she,” And that’s all Eddie really had to say, thankfully, because Richie understood and Richie was _furious_.

“I’ll kill her,” He said, voice still unbearably gentle. To a stranger, it might have sounded cheerful, but Eddie knew that Richie didn’t really get _mad_. He didn’t let it show on his face, and he especially wouldn’t now, not as he handed over the clean clothes.

“I’ll set some blankets out for you,” Maggie said, “Went, honey, you can go back to bed.”

Wentworth and Maggie shared a look, but Went turned and walked up to their room anyway. Maggie busied herself, and Eddie didn’t realize he was standing there, staring at nothing, until Richie spoke up.

“Seriously, man, what happened?” Richie asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “Maybe you’ll feel better once you get it out.”

“No, I just need a shower,” Eddie said, shaking his head and walking up the stairs. The Toziers had a pretty decently sized house, and their bathroom had gotten a fresh coat of paint on it from the last time Eddie had seen it. He flipped on the lights, closed the door, and tried not to feel awkward as hell taking a shower in his friend’s bathroom. When he closed his eyes, though, he didn’t know what to pretend. His home certainly wasn’t an option any more, what with the fighting with his mom and the broken window and the definite threat of not eating--speaking of which, he was suddenly hungry and aching all over. 

He opened his eyes to find streaks of red trailing down towards the drain. The bottoms of his feet were bleeding, and further inspection revealed a nasty gash on the side of his leg that suddenly hurt like a _bitch_. 

Richie’s clothes were big, but comfortable, and Eddie pretended he didn’t immensely enjoy the feeling of Richie’s baggy, well-worn clothes. He pretended even harder that he didn’t like that they smelled like him. He wrapped a towel around his leg, promising himself that he’d do the laundry later. He’d hide that he’d ever bled from them. They didn’t need to know.

When he stepped out of the bathroom and walked back down the stairs, he took another towel with him and bent over to start cleaning the bloody spots off the stairs, hoping Maggie wouldn’t notice.

She didn’t. Went did. “What are you doing, Eddie?”

Eddie jumped. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Tozier, I swear I didn’t realize they were bleeding, it must have been the adrenaline--”

“Woah, woah, woah, kiddo,” Went said, “First of all, call me Went. Second, you’re still bleeding. Let’s patch you up.” Then, he raised his voice, “Mags! Get the first aid kit!”

Given Richie’s... well, everything, Eddie wasn’t very surprised to learn that the Toziers had an extensive first aid kid. Went wrapped up his feet with his tongue between his teeth, and applied butterfly bandages with unmatched expertise. It was really just a few spots where he’d landed on sharp rocks on his way down from the tree, and his foot didn’t bleed _that_ much, but Went still wrapped it firmly and precisely. “Don’t want these to get infected.”

“No,” Eddie agreed, staring up at the ceiling. His stomach rumbled again. He ignored it.

Went patted his leg as he stood up. “We’ve got cereal and leftover sloppy joe in the fridge if you want some.”

Eddie wouldn’t dare. He tugged the blanket on and curled up on the couch, warming up and trying to relax. The sun was rising. Eddie watched the sunrise, really stopped to watch it, for the first time in years. Most of the time the sun rose on his way to school, but he was always too busy talking to Bev to notice. Now, the entire house was quiet, and Eddie was bathed in a wonderful glow. He didn’t think for a while, because he didn’t want to. There wasn’t really anything _to_ think about besides impending doom and his mother’s--well, whatever the fuck was going on inside her head at any given point.

He didn’t want to name it, because he wasn’t sure whose fault it was or if it was bad or if it was even real. The more he didn’t dwell on it--so, dwelling on it--the more it felt like a bad dream.

“You alright?” Richie asked for the third fucking time that morning. Eddie hadn’t even noticed him.

“Stop checking on me,” Eddie snapped, but his voice was devoid of any real venom.

Richie sat on the end of the couch, just past Eddie’s feet, and he drew another blanket over his lap. “I don’t know if you know what this looks like, Eds. It _looks_ like your mom just committed some sorta crime and you dropped down off that tree because you didn’t have any other options. You know, there’s a low branch on the other side.”

Damn. Eddie’d hoped that Richie hadn’t gotten any better at reading people. He was abysmal at it, back then. When had he gotten so good?

“You’ve been hanging out with Bev too much,” Eddie huffed. Richie kicked up the footrest and leaned back. Eddie saw him cover his eyes with his arm.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Richie said softly. Since when had Richie learned to talk soft?

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said back, just as soft, because Richie deserved that, at least, “Four years is a long time.”

“It is,” Richie agreed, “But you came here.”

Maybe it wasn’t so long after all. Richie used to be Eddie’s _best_ best friend, and Eddie knew what happened, but he missed him.

“I missed you,” Eddie said, because sunrise was a dangerous time, “So much. It never went away, either.”

“I missed you too,” Richie said back, “I dunno if it’s any consolation, but I’m bi. Haven’t told my folks yet.”

Eddie stretched out a little, touching Richie’s hip with his foot. It was an invitation, one that he wouldn’t say out loud even in the vulnerability of five-thirty in the morning. “Thank God. It’s so good to know I’ve never had straight friends a day in my life.”

Eddie winced at his own words. Bill had been outed by the baseball team a whole year ago, but it’d been the closest Eddie had ever come to reconnecting with him out of sheer pity.

“Don’t feel bad about that,” Richie said, “Bill’s not hung up about it anymore. The coach chewed ‘em out after that, they all apologized. He’s still the best pitcher on the team.”

Eddie cracked his eyes open to look at Richie’s shit-eating grin. “How in the world would you know that?”

“I’m the best catcher on the team,” Richie’s grin only grew, “Even if I’ve never played baseball a day in my life.”

Eddie gently kicked Richie, but he laughed. “Stan missed you too. Sometimes we talked about how much better things would be if you and Bill were there.”

“You’ll give me a big head,” Richie said, taking Eddie’s foot onto his lap and rubbing it gently. He carefully avoided the spots where Eddie’s foot had bruised or broken, so he mostly rubbed his ankle.

“Bigger than the one you take up the ass every night?” Eddie couldn’t help himself. Richie’s ministrations on his ankle didn’t stop, and Eddie would be lying if he said it didn’t feel good.

“Betrayed by my own Spaghetti!” Richie gasped.

“What the fuck?”

“Oh, you know,” Richie explained, “Eddie Spaghetti. Spaghetti man. Edward Spaghed--”

“Literally never talk to me again!” Eddie squealed, writhing halfheartedly away from Richie. They both heard footsteps in the upper levels of the house, and everything stopped between them. Richie’s parents weren’t dangerous, and Eddie knew that, but it was leftover from that summer where kids would disappear, where they watched over their shoulders for monsters.

“Do you think they’re asleep?” Went asked, in a voice that was probably meant to be quiet. So that’s where Richie got it from.

Maggie shushed him. “With your luck, they certainly aren’t any more!”

Eddie held his finger up to his lips, inner gossip living for the potential to hear a conversation he shouldn’t be privy to. Richie winked at him, leaning back and closing his eyes again. Eddie did the same, relaxing and crossing his arms over his chest.

“What are we supposed to do, Mags?” Went asked, “He’s not safe at home. I’m starting to think Richie’s not safe at home now, either.”

“It’ll be okay, honey,” Maggie said, so softly it physically pained Eddie, “Between us and Don and all the others, I’m sure we can work something out. I’m just glad he’s back. I think Richie would’ve died if V--if Eddie hadn’t come to visit.”

It was always the old people that had trouble. Eddie huffed a little, and Richie patted his leg. Eddie heard the shower start up, heard the water running, felt the faded thrum of pain in his feet, and fell asleep.

Eddie was running again. He registered it as a dream this time, but it didn’t stop the monster from drooling as it chased him through the school’s gymnasium. It looked different this time, this time it was fifteen year old Patrick, then Richie, then Patrick again. The look in his eyes never changed, which didn’t make sense because Richie would never do anything to hurt him, but then Eddie was cornered on the stage of the gym, back pressed up against a prop closet that’d been locked for as long as Eddie remembered. Patrick approached him with a knife, or an awl, or a pair of fabric shears, or just his hands, but Eddie was terrified all the same.

He closed his eyes, and the hands on his shoulders were horribly gentle.

He opened his eyes to see Richie staring at him. Patrick’s eyes were ghostly blue, almost grey, but Richie’s were deep brown and full of life. Eddie scrambled back, because he was _too close_ , and his back was pressed up against the arm of the couch.

“Woah, Eds, what’s wrong?” Richie asked, hand sliding up Eddie’s thigh. Eddie couldn’t help it, he groaned out, something between fear and arousal pooling in his gut. At the root of it all, there was bone-deep confusion.

“Wait, you’re into that?” Richie snickered, standing up, “God, Eddie, I always knew you were a freak. Can’t believe you’d actually be _into_ something that fucked up. Look at you, disgusting. Pathetic. You know, we never hung out with you because we liked you.”

Okay, this had to be a dream.

“It was all pity, Anna-bear,” And suddenly, he was Sonia, “Always pity. You’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you noticed?”

Eddie looked around his room. It was absolutely filthy, paint peeling off the walls, mattress covered in mold spots, and the _smell_. It was just like Neibolt.

Eddie woke up and knew he had about thirty seconds to get to a toilet. He stumbled into the Tozier’s kitchen before ralphing into the sink, right next to Maggie. Eddie wondered when he’d eaten last, because all that came up was bile. He collapsed onto his arms and trembled against the cool metal.

“Sweetie,” Maggie said, dropping the pan of eggs to rub Eddie’s back, “It’s okay, just let it out--here, let me grab you some water--it’s really okay, Richie did this all the time after--”

She trailed off, busying herself with a glass of water for Eddie. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday at noon I had some popcorn at Bev’s,” Eddie said, chugging the water to get something into his system, “Sorry. I just--had a bad dream.”

“Some dream, huh?” Richie asked, with a knowing look.

“Yeah, Rich, you were there,” Eddie took another gulp of water, “Even in my nightmares, my brain can’t fathom you as anything other than a bug-eyed, buck-toothed weirdo.”

Richie flipped Eddie off, and Went eyed them over his newspaper. Maggie chortled into her eggs.

“How long do you think we have until she comes around?” Richie asked offhandedly, although his eyes betrayed just how long he’d thought about this question. Eddie knew how his brain worked. He’d think about something, realize how awful it would be to say, and then say it.

Maggie almost dropped her spoon. “Rich--”

“No, it’s okay,” Eddie shook his head, “I’m not sure, honestly. She’s probably giving the Urises a mouthful right now.”

Maggie plated the eggs, which were a little burnt, but they were still probably the best thing Eddie had ever had.

“Mmm,” Richie hummed, “Cheesy.”

“The Tozier special,” Maggie noted, “I dumped a little of every kind of cheese we have in that sucker.”

Eddie bit back an _I’m lactose intolerant_ , because he _wasn’t_. The reflex was still there, from when his mother had him on a lactose-free, gluten-free, sugar free diet. He’d finally cracked when she suggested low-sodium too. She’d already taken everything except sushi from him, there was no way she’d be taking soy sauce too. 

“Delightful,” Eddie commented with a mouthful of egg.

“You know,” Went said, “I’m sure it would taste a lot better if you all sat down so we could eat together like a family.”

Maggie, Richie, and Eddie, who’d been standing around like a bunch of _losers_ , all sat obediently in the chairs around the circular kitchen table. Eddie knew it lengthened into an oval when they needed it to, and he wondered when they’d last had visitors.

“Do you uh. Go to church?” Maggie asked, a little overcautious, “I didn’t know and, well, I just--”

“Nah,” Eddie shook his head, “Haven’t in a while. Ma’s been obsessed with televangelists ever since we got the new TV.” The _new TV_ being five years old, but what’s a little embellishment here and there?

“They’re the same, except without the crazy TV people,” Richie said, nodding over to his parents, “Haven’t gone to see Rabbi Uris except on Passover since--”

“Richie!” Maggie chided, “Don said he understands that we’re busy.”

“Don’s a Rabbi, he’s supposed to be nice,” Richie grumbled. Eddie gave him a sideways look--did _he_ really want to spend more time in the synagogue? Richie didn’t have a religious bone in his body.

Eddie caught, several times, Went’s eyes peeking at him over the top of his newspaper. Eddie wondered what he was looking for.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Eddie grumbled, picking at the last of his eggs.

“There’s more in the pan, Eddie, dear,” Maggie said, “And we’re just worried about you.”

Eddie wished he could say there was nothing to worry about. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Maggie took Eddie’s hand in hers and looked into his eyes, through them, right to the back of his skull. “What happened?”

Eddie sighed and, in an almost detached way, told her the whole story. Starting two days ago, how he’d destroyed his relationship with his only living parent. After he was done, it took him a little while to come back into his body, and when he looked around, he saw the rest of them staring at him in shock. Maggie’s hands were still holding his, but they were shaking. Richie pushed away his half-eaten bowl of scrambled eggs.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Maggie whispered, “Can I give you a hug?”

Eddie nodded, and then he was crushed up against Maggie’s chest and he was crying and clinging to her. Her hand rested on the back of his head, running through his hair. Eddie felt pathetic.

“What do you want to do today?” Maggie said, pulling back and rubbing Eddie’s shoulders, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but you could go to Sam’s, you could go over to Don’s--”

“Do you know who’s with him?” Eddie asked, sniffing and trying to get his breathing under control.

“Bev and Sam went home, but the Denbroughs and the other boys are staying until this whole thing blows over,” Maggie said, still soft and calm.

“I’d like to go over there, please,” Eddie said, staring at the ground. He felt like a child who’d done something wrong.

“Okay,” Maggie nodded, “You can wear Richie’s flip-flops. I’ll go start the car.”

Eddie nodded, walking over to the front door. To his surprise, Richie followed him.

“I just got you back,” Richie smiled apologetically, “You can’t escape me now. I’m like a leech.”

Eddie laughed, really laughed, for the first time in a long time. Richie looked at him, a little concerned. “If you like that one, you’ll definitely like all the jokes I have that are actually funny.”

“You’ve never been funny,” Eddie rolled his eyes, smiling. He stepped out into the warm, damp May air, and settled into the back of the car with Richie. Eddie was leaned up against him, and Richie’s arm was around Eddie’s shoulder, keeping him close. Keeping him safe. It didn’t feel at all like Sonia’s idea of protection, though. This was comforting, it was easy, it didn’t have any expectations. Eddie wriggled a little closer, ignoring the way his seatbelt dug into his neck.

They arrived at Don’s, and Andrea opened the door and looked at Eddie with wide eyes. Eddie didn’t like it.

“What happened?” She asked in a horrified whisper, letting Eddie into the house. Eddie didn’t think he looked _that_ bad.

“My mom,” Eddie said, exhausted, not wanting to relay the whole story again. Andrea nodded, called to Stan, and went back to her office. She was a lawyer, but Eddie didn’t really know the specifics of her work. Stan, Bill, Mike, and Ben all appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Come up,” Stan instructed, “We’re having a meeting.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow at him, but did as he was told, kicking off the flip-flops and marching up the stairs. Richie took the stairs two at a time. When Eddie passed a full-length mirror in the hallway, he stopped and stared at himself.

His face was red and puffy from crying, his eyes were bloodshot, there was a massive bruise on the side of his face and his arms were littered with bruises from when he’d fought with his mother. The knuckles on his right hand were swollen. He really did look awful. He walked into Stan’s bedroom and everyone stared for a brief, horrible second.

“Stop,” Eddie said, fuming, “I know what I look like.”

_I know it’s at least partially my fault_ , Eddie thought, _I went back to her_.

Stan stood up and, with all the grace of a seventeen year old boy, brought Eddie into an awkward, gangly, crushing hug. Eddie found himself relaxing, because Stan’s presence was familiar. Eddie buried his face in the crook of Stan’s neck and he felt something leave his body, like he was letting go. Stan pulled him back, wiped his tears, and kissed his forehead. Stan hadn’t done something like this for Eddie in a long time.

Eddie looked up to see everyone still staring. He pulled away from Stan and flopped down in a beanbag chair, one that had been pulled up from storage. Bill and Georgie were curled up together on the bed, Ben was sitting cross-legged on the hardwood floor, and Mike was in Stan’s desk chair. Stan settled on the other side of Bill, and Richie, after a moment of hesitation, sat between Eddie’s legs, leaning up against him. Unconsciously, Eddie’s hands ran through Richie’s long, curly hair.

“We’ve made the decision that, effective immediately, none of us is going to walk to or from home by themselves,” Stan said, “We’ll pair up to go to class, too. I’ve been thinking, and I’ve got some extra cash saved up, probably enough to buy you a cheap little--”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie shook his head, “I don’t need anything, Stan.”

“What if you get cornered?” Stan suggested, eyes wide, giving into his neuroses, “What if none of us is around and he’s got a knife or something? Eddie, it’s not about charity, it’s about _safety_.”

Eddie didn’t want to be a drain on Stan’s resources. Stan was offering to buy him a _phone_. “Stan, I--”

“I cuh-can help,” Bill offered.

“Me too!” Georgie smiled, “I have twenty whole dollars from Easter!”

“Okay! Okay,” Eddie sighed, “You can buy me a phone. A _cheap one_.”

Georgie cheered and fell back onto the bed.

There was so much fight to even get to his release. Eddie was on edge every day, jumping from house to house to avoid his mother. She’d hounded him every time she found him about the bruises and the broken window, and Eddie never so much as got a word in. He shrank away every time, retreating into the heart of his friends’ houses. He never felt a sense of victory when he turned her away, even though he felt he should. Just a sinking, yearning feeling in his chest.

He got to know them again, and he got to know, for the first time, Mike Hanlon and Ben Hanscom. They were both such... sweethearts, for lack of a better word. Eddie didn’t know if the blush that rose on his face when Mike offered up some of his old clothes was from embarrassment or attraction, just that it lingered long after he put them on.

Mike smelled like the earth after it rained.

Eddie got his new phone too, which was a pleasant surprise. It didn’t have a texting plan, but he downloaded some encrypted messaging apps to keep up with people. That didn’t stop May 18th from crawling towards him like a beast from Hell.

Eddie felt like the world was closing around him, like he was racing towards the End Times, and if he was, that he was woefully underprepared. If he was going to survive, it would be by the skin of his teeth.

Late at night, one night, at Richie’s house, Eddie was situated under Richie’s arm and Richie was brushing his shoulder rhythmically.

“What if I killed him?” Eddie asked, eyes wild.

“What?” Richie turned inward, brow furrowed.

“It’s like--there’s no way he’s better, right? It’d really be saving us a lot of trouble and--ugh. Forget it,” Eddie shook his head, “I’m just being neurotic.”

Richie looked a little queasy. Eddie let it go. But, the longer he thought about it, the more he realized it might not just be a maladaptive daydream. Maybe the only way out of it was for one of them to die.

It wasn’t hard, with the instability of his life, to spin a little prophecy out of Hockstetter’s release. Eddie was supposed to die. He was the one that Patrick had his eyes on. He was the one that fell through the floor. Here he was again, falling, falling--

Eddie was running. He didn’t know why, or from what, but he could hear something big and hungry following him. Eddie ran and ran and ran until he burned through his cheap tennis shoes, and then until his feet were blistered and bleeding.

“I’ll get you, _freak_ ,” A voice whispered right in his ear, “I’ll get you and you’ll--you’ll see. You’ll feel everything all at once and wouldn’t you like that?”

Eddie was perched at the edge of a cliff, stopping just in time. He whirled around to see him standing there. “Go ahead. Jump.”

Eddie was still. He knew the feeling, now, that deer get just before the hunter pulls the trigger.

“You can’t, can you?” Patrick simpered, stalking forward and caressing Eddie’s face, “Eddie?”

“Eddie?”

“Eddie? Holy shit, what the Hell were you dreaming about?” Richie asked, giving a little half smile and releasing Eddie’s shoulders.

“Nothing,” Eddie said reflexively, “Go back to bed.”

“Implying I ever went to bed in the first place,” Richie said, still smiling half-heartedly, “Three days, Eddie.” The clock on the Cable box read _12:08_.

“Three days,” Eddie whispered, curling in on himself. He tried so hard to stop seeing Patrick’s face smiling at him, he tried so hard to stop seeing Stan’s bleeding face, but the images wouldn’t stop. The sky was falling.

Richie crawled out of bed, falling on his face in the process, and gently unfolded Eddie. Eddie let himself go, feeling the carpet scratch at his arms. Richie wrapped himself around Eddie, enveloping him.

“You’re so warm,” Eddie murmured, turning around and tucking his head under Richie’s chin. They fit together so well, and Eddie could feel sleep pulling him in again.

Eddie was drifting pleasantly, even though his blanket was tangled in his legs and he could feel every thread of carpeting. Richie’s breathing was even and he grunted a little in his sleep instead of snoring. But as Eddie began to feel his body grow weightless, he could’ve sworn he heard something thud against the window.

Eddie jerked back into alertness when he realized something _was_ thudding against the window.

“Huh, would’ya look at that,” Eddie smiled softly, “I guess I have a type.”

Mike was standing on the other side, grinning brightly through Richie’s window. The more Eddie looked, though, the more people he saw. Bev had another rock in her hand, ready to throw it, and Eddie stood up and walked over to the window. He popped it open and smiled, a little slap-happy. “Hey boys,” He said, faux-flirty, twirling his hair.

“Would you wake Sleepy up? We’re gonna go blow off some steam,” Bill said, pointing to Richie. Eddie walked over and kicked Richie gently with his bare foot. Richie jerked awake, glaring daggers at Eddie. Eddie pulled him to his feet.

“Where are we going?” Eddie asked, pulling on Richie’s flip-flops. Richie was already halfway out the window, without question, completely barefoot.

“Hanlon farm,” Bev said, already walking off. Eddie closed the window on his way out and had to run to catch up with the group.

“I have asthma, you assholes!” Eddie griped. Ben stopped, opening his mouth to apologize, but Stan was already grinning back at Eddie.

“And I’m bright blue and made of clouds,” Stan retorted. Eddie punched him, laughing despite himself.

They walked into the woods just behind Richie’s house. Eddie took off his flip-flops and walked in the creek, feeling the icy rush of water between his toes. Richie grabbed Eddie’s shoulders, making a miniature conga line.

“I can’t stop this feeling!” Richie sang, loud and off-key, “Deep inside of me!”

“I’ll show you deep inside,” Bill snapped, “Shut the fuck up before someone calls the cops. We’re right by Fairgrove.”

“Ugh, Fairgrove,” Stan rolled his eyes, “I wish I wasn’t too big of a pussy to spray paint houses.”

“The Quarterback lives in Fairgrove,” Mike said, “I’ve been to his house. He has a separate kitchen and dining room. They have a family room _and_ a living room.”

“What the hell is wrong with those people?” Bev chuckled, grabbing a stick off the ground and throwing it a few feet ahead of her in the creek. Ben chewed on his tongue and looked around with his flashlight.

“This should be it up here,” Mike said, pointing to an archway formed by two giant oak trees, “Just a few more minutes and we should be in a clearing, soundproof, miles from anybody.”

They walked through the trees, and the archway turned into a tunnel, which grew smaller and smaller, branches intertwined. They had to hunch over and Richie had to crawl just to make it through.

The clearing was magnificent. It was beautiful, the stars all twinkled clear and bright. The trees and bushes linked together, creating a barrier between them and the rest of the world.

There was a small stash of shitty alcohol in a basket. “Nothing’s ever come in here to take it,” Mike said, “I’ve got some older siblings in Portland.”

“And you didn’t get any weed out of this?” Richie asked, popping open a bottle of Fireball and taking a long swig. Mike glared at him.

“My siblings aren’t in the business of, you know,” Mike said, “Weed.” He sat down a few feet away from Richie and kicked his feet up onto a root that was sticking out of the ground.

“But they are in the business of providing minors with alcohol?” Richie asked, offering the bottle to Mike. Mike shook his head, leaning back and looking up at the stars. Bill took a seat next to Mike and draped himself over Mike’s stomach.

“C’mon, this is supposed to be a party, not a funeral,” Bev goaded, taking off her shirt. She was wearing a sports bra underneath. It wasn’t flattering, but Eddie had a sneaking suspicion she had meant it that way. Whatever way she _had_ meant it, it was a nearly unfamiliar intimacy that Eddie hadn’t experienced before. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. Eddie soon found himself with his lips around a liquor bottle, sitting between Stan and Richie

Despite Bev’s insistence, they didn’t talk much. Mostly, they drank and listened to music from Bill’s phone, attached to a portable charger. At one point, Bill kissed Stan, and they spent the rest of the night joined at the hips. Eddie felt a little jealous, maybe. He wasn’t quite sure, the alcohol was starting to lose its burn.

“You’re all so _hot_ ,” A drunk Richie confessed, “Like, all six of you. Totally bangable.”

“You too, Tozier,” Bev winked at him, swinging her feet around to rest in his lap. Richie watched her sparkling toenail polish with a strange reverence. Bev wiggled her toes for him and laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe.

Just at the turn of dawn, Stan pointed out the thick, dark grey clouds that peeked over the tips of the trees, “Storm coming.”

Bill stood up and there was a deep, distant rumble of thunder. It was obvious that their party, and by extension, their last escape before that of Hockstetter, was over.

“When we make it out of this,” Bill started, voice catching in his throat, “ _When_ we make it out of this, not _if_. When we make it, I-I-I-- _damn it--_ we’re still guh-going to take care of each other, right? No muh-more coward shit.”

“You heard the man!” Richie cried, “No more coward shit!”

Eddie smiled and cheered along with them, but in his heart he knew he couldn’t let them face Hockstetter. In his mind, all he could see were their faces lit by the strange moonlight. He’d face Hockstetter alone, and he’d kill him.

Eddie, of course, was a man of his word. He was filled with such resolve that his heart didn’t thud with terror anymore, but a subdued thrill of some unidentifiable emotion. He wasn’t going to run away. He couldn’t. He ran away from his friends, he ran away from his mother, but he wasn’t going to run this time.

The final day he couldn’t sleep. He schemed instead. It did start raining, and it rained hard. Rivers flowed along the streets of Derry, threatening to sweep away anything smaller than a cat.

Eddie watched on the news as Patrick was released. For a minute, he thought, _I can’t. I’m not a killer_. Patrick looked almost pitiful. He was rail-thin and lanky. Then he caught sight of Patrick’s eyes, and even through the TV they were cold, steel grey. Heartless and empty.

Eddie knew where Patrick would head, and he beat him to Neibolt house by thirty minutes. He had an iron fencepost from outside Neibolt. For posterity’s sake, he wore a mask, a baseball cap, and gloves. He borrowed Stan’s hiking boots (albeit without his knowledge). Neibolt house leaked and croaked with every gust of wind. Eddie waited.

He heard the creaking of footsteps, and he peered around the corner. There he was. _There he was_. Patrick stood, drenched to the bone, _wiry and muscled_. This wasn’t a dream. Patrick hadn’t seen him--yet--so Eddie could strike. He could get it over with.

Eddie’s phone vibrated in his pocket and his eyes widened. Patrick didn’t flinch.

“I’ve changed,” He said, turning around to face him, “I mean, really. You won’t sink to my level, would you? You’re not a killer, Vivian.”

Eddie saw red. “That’s not my _fucking_ name!” He swung wildly. Patrick dodged, grabbing Eddie’s arm and pulling him past. His hand groped around in Eddie’s back pocket, pulled out the phone, and tossed it out the window. It landed with a splash in a puddle outside the house.

“I was just like you,” Patrick hissed, “I was angry. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, there’s only one thing that makes me feel the way I felt.”

His grip on Eddie’s arm was iron-clad and frigid.

“I never got to see what you’d look like in the fridge.”

Eddie screamed, kicking and clawing at Patrick. Patrick soon manipulated him into a stranglehold, pinning him to the floor. “Don’t make this harder on yourself. Don’t struggle, and this’ll be easy.”

“I am not like you!” Eddie cried, even as Patrick pressed his face into the moldy, ancient wood floor, “You were never like me! They’ll find me!”

Patrick laughed, reaching back for something, “They’ll find pieces of you.”

Eddie realized what was happening too late. Patrick took the pocketknife and sliced through Eddie’s shirt and binder, exposing his bare back to the chilly air. It stung where the knife had sliced open his skin, but Eddie didn’t think it was that bad. Not yet.

“I’m going to take my time with this,” Patrick promised, tying Eddie’s wrists together with fabric from his shirt. Unfortunately, he was very good at it. Now with more momentum, Patrick sat back on his knees to admire his handiwork. Eddie saw a chance and writhed away, kicking Patrick in the stomach. His victory would be short-lived and hollow as Patrick grabbed his ankle and slammed the knife into Eddie’s calf. Eddie screamed, and his shoes were jostled off harshly and quickly.

“You won’t be going anywhere,” Patrick grinned, tying Eddie’s legs together at the ankles. Eddie stopped struggling, trying to catch his breath, and he prayed to God, the God that had always failed him. He said an honest prayer for the first time in years.

_Please, let them come. Let them come with the police, with anybody. Please save me._

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut as Patrick started to rip at his jeans with the knife, begging and begging. He begged to his old God, to the Goddess, to every god that had ever been. He sobbed, bawled until he couldn’t breathe.

“Now, what to do with you?” Patrick grinned, “You’re all alone now. No mother, no friends.”

“That’s not true!” Eddie screamed, voice hoarse. As if on command, there was a gasp from the front door.

“Eddie!” Bill screamed, scrambling into Neibolt house. Following him were Mike and Richie, and while they ran to Hockstetter, Bill scrambled once again to the child laying on the ground.

Bill untied the bonds on Eddie’s wrists and ankles, bringing him into a hug. “Oh my God, Eddie, you’re so cold.”

Eddie hadn’t realized it before, but the rain and adrenaline had brought a chill to the air that left him trembling. Bill had come with a backpack this time, and pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt for Eddie. Eddie put them on, and when he looked over, Bill was on the phone.

“On the corner of Neibolt and South, yeah, he’s responsive. Please hurry,” Bill said, “And send the police.”

Just like the last time, the rest was a blur. The ambulance--alone--the hospital, and then his mother.

“Oh, Anna-bear, I was so worried!” She cried. Eddie stared blearily up at her, curled in on himself, and didn’t say a thing.

Sam was worried. Well, she was always worried, but she worried about Eddie a lot. Especially after the Hockstetter fiasco--he was quickly put into an adult psych ward--but it had been a full week since anyone besides Sonia had talked to Eddie. She presumed as much, anyway, whenever she asked Sonia about it, all she got was a mouthful about how she ruined her kid.

“Just let me see him, please,” Sam begged her, pleading through the closed door, “Let the kids send him some candy. He’s got to be miserable.”

“She’s my daughter!” Sonia screamed, red in the face, “You can’t tell me how to parent! She’s never speaking to you again! I’m getting her released from the hospital tomorrow, and she’s never coming back.”

Sam couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t let the kids do anything either.

“Please!” Bev sniffled, “Please, you can’t let this happen. I can’t let this happen. I need to--I need to see him. Please.”

“I can’t do anything, Bev, and I think you know that,” Sam crouched down, wiping Bev’s tears like when she was a little girl, “It’ll all be okay.”

Sam hadn’t had to lie to Bev in a long time.

Eddie woke up in the hospital absolutely furious. He didn’t know what had overcome him, but it was the only emotion to push past the great big wall of shock and emptiness that filled his body. He hadn’t said a word in days, and he hadn’t said a word to his mother since he began his hospital stay.

He pressed the call button, and a nurse came a few seconds later. It was a nurse Eddie had seen around, cute, with hair that was just long enough to start curling. He was kind. Naturally, Eddie’s mom hated him.

“I hate my mom,” Eddie gasped out, immediately dissolving into tears, “She’s--I hate her. Please don’t make me go back.”

He almost didn’t care that they’d probably take him away from his friends. Well, he did. He wondered why he was doing this.

The nurse looked at him with his kind eyes and said, “It’s okay, hey, it’s going to be okay Viv--”

“That’s not my name!” Eddie said, sobbing, “But she doesn’t--she doesn’t _care_! She just wants me to be a nice daughter but I can’t do that! I can’t do that and she--and she thinks she can fix it.”

The nurse’s eyes widened. “We’ll get you a psych specialist down here tomorrow, how’s that sound?”

Eddie, placated, nodded and hiccupped. 

“It’s okay that you asked for help,” The nurse said, by way of a goodbye, “It’s okay to need help. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The nurse left him with a bottle of water and fresh bandages.

Eddie, as it turned out, was old enough to file for emancipation. This meant he could be free to do whatever he wanted, so he did. He went home to Bev’s house, free as a bird.

The legal process was shitty and long, but Andrea agreed to help him, and although she wasn’t a naturally warm presence, Eddie grew very fond of her by the time he was finally done with it.

“What is the first thing you want to do as a free man, Eddie?” Richie asked, arm slung around Eddie’s shoulder, “The world is your oyster.”

“I think we should go down to the quarry,” Bev suggested, “Have a little fun.”

On the hottest day of the summer, they arrived at the Quarry, piled in Mike’s pickup truck that he left on the side of the road. They marched into the woods, arriving at the cliffside. Bill stripped off his shirt and shorts, leaving his boxers on.

“Aw, c’mon, Bill, we’re almost adults,” Bev said, stripping down to her underwear, “Live a little.” To everyone’s surprise, Bev removed her bra and slipped off her panties, taking a running leap into the water.

“Not fair! You don’t have a dick!” Richie whined. Stan and Eddie laughed, shrugging off their clothes and leaping too.

The water was pleasant and not too cold. Eddie floated to the bottom and felt his feet gently touch the algae-covered sand. He opened his eyes and looked around at the murk before pushing up and finding his way to the surface.

Eddie spluttered, wiping the water from his eyes just in time to see Bill hit the water. Ben, Mike, and Richie quickly followed suit, and they paddled out until it was just shallow enough for them to stand.

Eddie never really minded his own body when he was in the company of these friends, and he noticed Stan being a little less reserved about being naked too.

“Isn’t this weird?” Ben asked, “Like, even a little?”

“Nothing about us is normal,” Bev shrugged, squeezing water out of her hair, “I don’t see why we should start now.”

Eddie couldn't help it--he kissed her. He cupped her face and drew her in, and the press of her lips on his was heavenly.

Eddie was running. He didn’t know why, or from what, but he could hear something chasing him. He wasn't afraid, in fact, he was exhilerated. He ran until he wore out his shoes, he ran until his feet were blistering, but it didn't hurt. He found himself in a familiar path in the woods.

“I’ll get you, _freak_ ,” A voice whispered right in his ear, “I’ll get you and you’ll--you’ll see. You’ll feel everything all at once and wouldn’t you like that?”

Eddie was perched at the edge of a cliff, stopping just in time. He whirled around to see him standing there. “Go ahead. Jump.”

Eddie was still. He wasn't frozen, though, he was calculating.

“You can’t, can you?” Patrick simpered, stalking forward and caressing Eddie’s face. This time, though, he knew the answer.

"Fuck you," Eddie spat, and he dived into the Quarry. The birds and the bugs and the fish would be kind to him, they would let him embrace his lovers.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all so so so much for reading <3\. if you liked it, please leave kudos and a comment (it doesn't have to be long)! and if you want to request something from me, you have a bone to pick with me, or you just wanna chat, hit me up at [bevpegs](https://bevpegs.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


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